More Than Enough (More Than Series, Book 5) (10 page)

The knocking sounds again and I mumble another, “Go away,” a little louder than before but not by much.

Another knock.

“Jesus! Okay!” I take my time getting up, not because I’m drunk, but because I hope whoever the hell is knocking gives up by the time I get there.

My stomach drops
to the floor when I open the door to Dylan standing there, his hands in the pockets of his sweats, his lips pressed tight while he looks down at me. Then he smiles and rocks on his heels. “You look
beautiful
, Riley.”

I eye him sideways while I bring the bottle to my lips and take another dose of
my
painkiller.

He clears his throat before saying, “Look. I get it. You’re mad. You have every right to be. But I’m not going to stand here and act like what we did was wrong because at the time, we both wanted it, and you can’t deny that. Do I wish it’d gone down differently? Of course. Regardless of what you might think about me, I’ve never done anything like that before. With anyone. Ever.” He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “I have feelings for you, Riley. Feelings I can’t ignore. Sure, I would’ve liked for us to take our time and to get to know each other a little… maybe convince you to actually enjoy the time we spend together, like I do, instead of…” He shakes his head. “…whatever it is you feel when you’re with me.”

My heart aches. For
him
and for me. He has no idea that I feel exactly the same way, and that it’s those feelings that causes the guilt that’s slowly eating away at me. “Dylan…”

“Just give me a chance to explain.”

I push back the tears burning behind my eyes. “You don’t need to—”

“I do, Ry. You need to hear it.”

I nod slowly, opening the door wider.

“You ever feel stuck, Riley?” he says, but it’s not really a question because he doesn’t wait for my response. “I don’t mean in your house or anything like that. I mean in time. Or in your head. I feel like I am. I feel like I’m stuck in a dust-filled room with gunshots going off around me, staring into the eyes of the kid who shot me. I feel like I’m there and I can’t shake it, and even though so much has happened since that day, and time has passed, and I’ve moved more times than I can count, I’m still there. Sometimes, I close my eyes and it’s all I can see.” He takes a breath. “But being with you—being in your room—it’s the only place I feel free from it all. I can’t explain it. I’m not even sure I want an explanation for it. All I know is that I want
it
. Because even though, technically, time itself is the same for everybody—every second, every minute, every hour—it’s not when I’m with you. It’s like it doesn’t exist. Or I don’t care that it does.” He pauses, his jaw tense and his lips thinned to a line, then he curses under his breath and shakes his head. “I’m not good with words,” he mumbles. “Am I making sense?”

He makes more sense than anyone has before and if I could’ve found the words to articulate my exact feelings since the day of the “accident,” he’s just used them all. Every single one.

He takes another long breath, speaking before I can answer him. “When I was about fifteen, I think, my buddy Jake and I went to this party and got hammered.”

I start to speak because I have a feeling he’s about to ramble and go off track but he raises his hand between us to stop me. “Just let me get it out.”

I nod once.

“We got home at God knows what time and my dad was up waiting for us and he was so mad and we were both so drunk that we couldn’t even register what was happening. My dad said something like ‘Do you boys know what time it is?’ and I kept my mouth shut but Jake, he just started laughing. And then he said—God, it’s so stupid—” He rolls his eyes. “—He said, ‘Nope. Time flies when you’re having fun.’ And we all burst out laughing, even Dad. So, it became this dumb joke between Jake and I—like, whenever we hung out we never looked at the time because we always deemed that we were having fun or whatever, and the other day, after my first check up for my shoulder, I went to UNC to see him—that’s why I didn’t come over. I would’ve, Riley. I wasn’t avoiding you because of what happened with us. Even though you asked me to leave that day, it didn’t change anything for me. I still wanted to see you.” He shakes his head, as if trying to refocus. “Anyway, Jake—he called me out. He asked who the girl was that my mind was obviously preoccupied with and I told him about you, and when I asked how he knew, he said I kept looking at the clock.” He inhales another breath, taking mine with it. “So I guess what I’m trying to say is that even though I feel stuck there, in the middle of a warzone, trapped in the mayhem of my mind, and feeling like time isn’t moving at all—you had me wanting more. You had me wanting
you
. You had me checking the time, Riley.”

I wipe the tears off my cheek, but they do nothing to stop the million emotions flowing through me. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I’d been looking at it all wrong. It’s not the chaos we created in the four walls of my room that had me fearful. It’s the comfort he provided. And I think, deep down, I want that comfort as much as he does. I’ve just never been willing to admit it.

Until now.

A slow smile pulls on my lips as I tug on his shirt and bring him closer. “You need to quit talking so much, Dylan.”

Once we’re in
my room, he admits he hasn’t slept since I saw him two days ago. I offer him my bed, which he accepts without hesitation. I’m adjusting the blinds when he mumbles, his mouth pressed against the pillow as he laughs to himself, “I’m twenty-three and afraid of the dark which is stupid, because you close your eyes and it’s all the same darkness, right?”

I don’t respond, just sit on the cushions and pull out a notebook.

It’s not the same. The nightmares you fear when you’re awake are worse than the ones you can’t control in your sleep. That’s why I write it all down. Why I try so hard to remember. Because lately the nightmares are clearer than the memories and I don’t want to forget. I won’t ever forget you, Jeremy.

Riley

D
ylan knocks on
my door for the second time the next day, looking the same as he did a few hours ago. Same clothes. Same squared shoulders, same hand in his pocket… but now the other’s holding a few plastic bags. He must see the confusion on my face when I look up at him because he says, “What? You didn’t expect me to come back?”

“After I told you I felt like shit because I’m on my period and that I was really grumpy and I’d probably end up throwing something at you? No. I didn’t think you’d come back.”

He holds up the bags in his hands. “Well, first, I wasn’t sure if it was the booze talking.”

“I haven’t had
that
much to drink.”

“Second. I wasn’t just going to leave knowing you were cranky…” He waits for my response. I don’t give him one. “I just got you some stuff that I’ve heard helps with the…” he points to my vagina. “The lady business.”

“Are you seriously pointing at my vagina right now?”

He looks at where he’s pointing.

“And now you’re looking at it?”

His eyes snap to mine, his lips pressed tight to stop his smile from forming.

I sigh, half amused, half still confused. “What are you doing, Dylan?”

“I told you,” he says, lifting the bags again. “I got you chocolate, chips, Gatorade, some girly books and DVDs… I wasn’t sure what you’d prefer, and I even got you some stuff to take care of…” he points to my vagina again. “…that.”

“Stop pointing at my vagina.”

“Stop calling it a vagina.”

I cover my mouth to stifle my laugh.

“I guess I’m hoping that by buying your friendship it would help get me back in your bed.” His eyes widen. “Room.
Bedroom
. I meant bedroom. Not, like—so anyway…” He rocks on his heels and glances up at the sky. “It’s a nice day out. Weatherman says it’s going to be warm but I don’t know. It’s a little chilly at the moment. Kind of wish I had somewhere warm and cozy to hide out.” He looks back at me. “Do you like turtles, Riley? I like turtles. Not the ninja type ones, but the real ones. They’re so slow. So cute. They’re like—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I burst out laughing. I can’t help it.

Then he smiles and I curse the damn butterflies for defying me.

I grasp his shirt and pull him inside, taking the bags from him at the same time. His smile remains as he walks backward down the hallway toward my room, watching me pull out the block of chocolate from the bag. “Riley?”

“Yeah?”

He stops in my doorway, blocking me from going in. “Are we going to ignore what happened the other day?”

I stop in front of him. “I don’t think I’m ready to deal with it yet. Can we just…” I motion to my room. “…be?”

His smile reaches his eyes. “We can
be
whatever you want, Hudson. As long as I’m with you.”

I switch on
the TV and tell him to pick one of the DVDs he bought while I jump in the shower. When I return, he’s sitting on the edge of my bed, facing the TV. He smiles when he looks over at me.

“I was thinking…” I tell him, unwrapping the towel from my head. I sit down next to him and start drying my hair.

“You were thinking what?” he asks, turning to me with his leg up, knee bent, on the bed.

His knee brushes against mine and I pull away. Having him here is one thing, having him touch me is another. “How long were you in the navy for?”

“Riley,” he deadpans.

“What?” I ask, flipping my hair back and facing him.

“That’s not hot at all,” he mumbles. Then stands up and moves to the corner of the room. Not
my
corner, but the one where my bookshelf is. He picks up the books he’d bought and places them next to my other ones. “And you smell.”

“I smell?” I drop the towel and sniff my armpits. “I just showered.”

“Not in a bad way.” He shakes his head and turns back to me, but doesn’t close the gap between us. “And
Marines
, by the way. Not Navy.”

“Oh. Sorry. So how long?”

“Just over two years including basic. Why?”

“Why’d you enlist?”

He stares at me a moment, as if trying to decide what version of a lie he wants to tell me.

I know that look.

I
live
that look.

He doesn’t respond, just turns back to the shelf and runs his finger across the spines of the books. He stops at a set of blue books. My yearbooks. Then he pulls out the one from my freshman year. When he turns around, he holds it up as if asking for permission. He waits a few seconds for me to answer and when I don’t, he grabs the other three off the shelf and brings them with him back to the bed. He sits down next to me, further than he was before but still close enough that I can feel his warmth against my skin. He starts to flip the pages of my freshman year yearbook, starting at the back. “So when you were a freshman, I was—”

“Junior,” I cut him off. The response is quick.
Too quick
. Clearly, it’s not the first time I’ve thought about it. I drop my chin to my chest and hope he can’t see my blush. Or worse, call me out on it.

He points to my picture in the book.

“Oh God,” I cover my face to hide my embarrassment.

“You’re prettier now than you were then.”

I scoff and smack his leg. “Thanks, jerk!”

He bursts out laughing. “I didn’t mean it like that. Swear it.”

I take the book from him and flip to the junior pictures. “Let’s see
you
back in high school.”

He groans and fakes a shiver. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

I find his profile picture and spend a few seconds taking him in. He hasn’t changed much. His hair’s shorter and his face is a little more masculine now but besides that, he’s still the same Dylan in the picture. We go through the next book, me as a sophomore and him as a senior. I flip to his picture and read his caption out loud. “A man of many words.”

“What?” He leans over me and looks to where I’m pointing on the page. “I didn’t tell them to write that.”

“What did you tell them to write?”

“I don’t recall telling them anything.”

“Maybe they just improvised?”

“I guess.”

“What does it even mean?”

He shrugs. “No idea,” he says, then quickly looks away.

I don’t press on. I just flip the pages, ignoring the turning of my stomach when he moves closer again, his arm touching my back as he leans into me. I stop at the pictures of his senior prom and search the pages for any sign of him. There’s none of him. But there’s one of Heidi—his ex—with a crown on her head next to a guy who isn’t Dylan. “You didn’t win prom king?” I ask, eyeing him sideways.

“Nah.” He shakes his head slowly. “I think that was the year I put my foot down and told Heidi I didn’t care much for any of that shit.”

“That
shit
?”

“Yeah. You know… the whole arm candy thing and trying to get votes and making posters and pins and whatever.”

“So you just let another guy stand next to her, get these pictures, wear matching crowns and hold the title of king and queen on a night that was probably important to her?”

He leans back a little. “You make me sound like an asshole.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I guess I just see it differently.”

“How do you see it?”

“It’s just a night of memories, you know? High school isn’t forever.” I pause a moment and swallow the lump in my throat, the memories I speak of flooding my mind. My voice drops to a whisper. “Sometimes high school is as good as it gets.”

He takes the book from me and throws it behind us, then grabs the one from junior year. “I don’t know,” he says, flipping through the pages, most likely looking for me again. “I guess we had different experiences.”

“Oh, I’m sure we did,” I tell him, moving his hand away so I can flip to the page I know is mine. I point to my picture and add, “You and your circle of friends owned the school.”

“We did?” he asks, clearly surprised.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know that.”

“I mean, I guess. It was more my friends and Heidi, though. It wasn’t really me.”